


The Hand That Feeds

by suchlostcreatures (godfmischief)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, All the Loki's, Awesome Frigga, BAMF Loki, Everything Hurts, Frigga Feels, Gen, Loki Has Issues, NOT an apologist fic, Whump at the hands of Thanos, all the feels, past torture flashbacks, wormhole flashbacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-24 11:01:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godfmischief/pseuds/suchlostcreatures
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'He was lost. In the wrong districts of the universe. The dark alleyways. The backstreets. He had to survive on his wits. And the people he met were not kind.' Loki's fall from the Bifrost is explored through a series of flashbacks during his imprisonment in Asgard, as Frigga tries to help her son find his way out of the darkness. (Set: Pre & Post Avengers.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the result of my desire to explore what happened to Loki after he dropped from the Bifrost,. It's inspired in part by a couple of Tom Hiddleston quotes regarding where Loki might have travelled between Thor and The Avengers, and where he is now - emotionally - as he sits in Asgardian prison. These quotes will be added in a footnote at the bottom of this chapter.
> 
> The fic follows two timelines; crossing between 'present day' Loki, imprisoned in Asgard, and flashbacks of what befell him between the first Thor film, and The Avengers. As annoying as big chunks of italic font can be, that's the most effective method I can think of to separate flashback scenes from present day. Some of this story will reference Thor The Dark World prelude comics and the TTDW trailer.
> 
> This fic is not an attempt to justify what Loki did in the Avengers - I fully love BAMF!Loki but bear in mind there will be lots of feels and angt in this story, particularly where it is told through Frigga's POV. Also, I figure rock bottom is a pretty miserable place to be. No matter how bad-ass you are.

 

**T H E   H A N D  T H A T   F E E D S**

\- p a r t  o n e   -

 

_Technicolor energy poured brilliant and churning over the broken edge of the Bifrost, rushing like an angry river into a swirling vortex far below. A beacon in the star-studded darkness. The vastness of the universe tugged at Loki’s feet as he dangled over the infinite abyss, his once-brother’s mercy and their combined grasp upon Gunthr all that kept him from falling._

_Terror clutched at Loki’s chest at the thought of tumbling into that chaotic whirlpool of time and space, and his grip on the cool metal staff tightened. With a desperate glance upwards, his eyes met the straining face of Thor before settling with shock on his once-father - awoken too soon from the Odinsleep._

_The Allfather towered over them; his grasp upon Thor’s leg the anchor that kept both sons from falling. Loki stared wildly, his expression pleading and disarmingly genuine. “I could have done it Father! I could have done it! For you! For all of us!”_

_The words tore ragged from Loki’s throat as he searched his father’s face for approval - or absolution - but the steady gaze that met his eyes was one only of grave sadness, and he recoiled in bitter despair at the sight of a father who already mourned a son lost._

_“No Loki.”_

_Those two damning words fell from Odin’s lips like lead ballasts and Loki felt the weight of all he had wrought crush upon him, as the horror of his betrayal reflected in the Allfather’s world-weary gaze._

_He had made a grievous error, and the man who’d raised him as a son now looked to him as a stranger._

_A monster._

_In that moment, Loki understood with piercing clarity that everything had changed. Everything he thought to hold dear was now taken from him. He was neither of Asgard nor of Jotunheim. He had destroyed his relationship with those who had once been family, slain his real father... He had nothing._

_He was_ nothing _._

_The smooth metal of Gunthr was a lifeline beneath his clenched fingers, but it belonged to him no more - it never had._

_And so, he let it go._

_The swirling energy of the Bifrost drew him in as he fell away from the bridge, but it was Thor’s open-mouthed scream that followed him down. He clung then, to the cold comfort of his brother’s foolish stubborn love._

_He hadn’t lost everything dear to him after all._

_The anguished echo of Thor’s cry chased him into the kaleidoscopic void._

_But it couldn’t bring him back._

 

lll ll l lll l lllll ll l lll l

_Long-lived though they were, even Jotnur half-breeds had need of air to breathe. Soon after plummeting into the wormhole, Loki fell into unconsciousness as the air was ripped from his lungs. He could have fallen for eternity - until deep space caused his body to freeze and shatter - were it not for the space rock he collided into at such force it smashed his immortal self back into awareness. Of sorts._

_Loki awoke with a wretched gasp torn from lungs that could draw no breath. In a fluster of panic he clutched at his throat; frenzy taking over as his chest clenched hard around hammering heart, and each sucking breath only suffocated him further. His lungs felt squeezed tight and burning. There was no air, no matter how deep he tried to breathe. Nothing but a terrible pressure on his chest which grew and grew with each sour chalky mouthful of nothingness that he dragged into his lungs._

_Surrounded by darkness, he had no idea if he was alive or in Hel, nor sense at that point to care either way, but as his oxygen-starved brain bordered hysteria and threatened darkness, instinct drove him to cast an old familiar spell._

_Reaching into the emptiness before him, Loki’s hands twisted and pulled to perform a mid-air weave. It was no easy spell to work - no simple trick of illusion - but his hands fell into the rhythm of the weave as he built an invisible casement around his body. With lungs squeezed close to shattering, he bound his spell together with a flick of his wrists. It was done._

_The air he drew in was unnatural - wrought by magic - but it filled his lungs nonetheless and he almost cried with joy as the crushing pain eased within his chest._

_Then before the ache of his lungs could fully recede, the ground beneath his feet began to shift as great fissures opened up around him._

_Limbs forced to take action, Loki clawed for purchase upon the shifting metal and ice, stumbling upon the heaving swell beneath him. The surface broke in great chunks just as fast as he could throw himself forward, tilting and rolling until he began to slide. Faster and faster, his body smashed and ricocheted against jagged rocks torn free from their age-old lodgings. Until finally the ground fell away entirely, and he was once again tumbling into a void._

 

 

lll ll l lll l lllll ll l lll l lllll ll l lll l lllll ll l lll l ll lll ll l lll l lllll ll l lll l ll lll ll l lll l ll

“Loki, please, speak to me.”  Frigga’s voice was soft and fringed with sorrow. “Won’t you at least look at me?”

Without response, Loki remained in his position. Cross-legged upon the floor of his brightly lit cell with his back against a wall. Hands clasped and resting lightly upon his ankles. Eyes fixed on a space mid-way to the floor. An occasional blink. The regular shallow inhalation of breath. No more than that.

Never more than that.

Gone was the man who had entered this prison cell with the proud bearing of a Prince; refusing to be cowered. Gone was the man who had cast scornful eyes over his jailers - those he had once called family - as he’d stood supercilious and strong despite his wounds and his reason for being there.

Time and isolation had darkened the blight upon his soul and drawn him inwards. His memories he would not share, even to ease the burden of bearing them.

The Queen’s heart ached to see her son so lost within himself - so closed up, even to her. She had borne witness to his simmering rage when Thor returned him to Asgard, bound and gagged. She’d felt his humiliation as if it were her own, even as she knew his actions warranted such harsh arrest.

Still, he was her son, and so she had thrown her arms around him in the hope a mother’s love might lend strength to his fractured soul. And though he’d dropped his head against her shoulder and released a shuddering breath, his eyes were hard and haughty as he raised them to her own; glinting with a coldness that chilled her to the core.

Odin had entered the chamber then, demanding her absence. But Frigga remained in the shadows, to be sure her son’s neck remained clear of the gallows. With words like stinging barbs, Loki had taunted the Allfather, and as her heart cried out for her foolish boy to quell his lying tongue, she knew then, the truth behind his words.

He was asking the Allfather for the release he had not been granted when he’d plunged from the Bifrost.  

He was asking him to finish what he had not been able to do himself.

But Odin had dealt a punishment that spared their son of death and yet, in Loki’s tormented eyes, was by far a crueler fate. And though Frigga had wept for her son, she had not appealed for clemency.

She had seen that coldness in Loki’s eyes; she had felt the dark chill of his blackened soul and she knew - she knew - he would never again be the boy he once was.  This deadly, vicious man was a part of him now. All she could hope for was time to heal the wounds Thanos had inflicted upon his soul. And then maybe, maybe…

Returning her thoughts to the present, Frigga raised her palm towards the invisible force of energy which permitted no exit or entrance by any except those whose very blood had gone into its creation. A latticework of golden charms hummed into being at her proximity. Although she had not been a part of its spell-casting. she felt the magic within her rise up in recognition and sing within her veins.

“I will not give up on you Loki. I cannot believe you are lost to me - to us.”

Still, Loki did not respond, and reluctantly she withdrew her hand, knowing the signature of her magic upon this shield would only alert Odin to her presence in this place.

She was no weak woman to be quelled before the might of a King, but she knew better than to try her husband on some subjects - not when the Odinsleep had done so little to return him to his vitality.

Yes, Loki was one such subject best left unspoken. For now.

So Frigga kept her sojourns hidden from her husband - for the sake of his failing health. She knew how to cloak herself from the all-seeing eyes of Heimdall just as skillfully as her sorcerer son. And although she was by nature a soft-spoken gentle woman, she also knew how to strike the fear of something worse than death into the hearts of the prison guards. The wroth of Odin himself was worth risking for the guards, to escape the fate she promised if they dare tell of her visits.

“Do you remember the time you fought with your brother over an orphaned fawn, while on a hunting party with your father?”

Frigga chose her words carefully, wanting not so much to share a moral-driven tale of sibling rivalry and unconditional love, but to assess Loki’s reactions to her references of kinship.

As she expected, Loki gave no response. Closing off a sigh, Frigga continued, knowing that now she had begun to weave the tale, they would see it through to the end. Whether Loki wished it or not.

“Do you remember that argument? How your brother wanted to bring home its skin, while you pleaded with your father to spare the wee thing, and allow you bring it home for a nanny goat to raise alongside its own?”

Fresh affection rose up within Frigga at the memory of how eager her youngest son had been to nurture the same creatures Thor would prefer to see mounted on a wall. Though in hindsight, she couldn’t help but wonder if Loki’s motives were borne out of concern for the animals, or desire to thwart his brother’s triumphs.

“Then your father tried to tell you the only nanny goat with milk to spare was the bad-tempered Herdís and she was just as likely to eat the fawn than allow it to suckle.”

Frigga laughed then, and the sound was so ill-matched with the surroundings yet so filled with warmth, even the guard who stood at the prison entrance tilted his head towards her and broke rank with a smile. But the Queen only had eyes for her son, who seemed to be sitting stiller than ever, if such a thing were possible.

“Of course, you would have milked the goat yourself, and butted it with your own head if it dared complain.”  

Frigga paused in her story and reached towards the barrier once more. Loki’s demeanor had changed. An alertness had crept over his face. It was subtle, so subtle, but she’d studied his carefully-schooled expression enough times in recent weeks to gauge the slightest change.

“But while you and Odin argued, your brother took matters into his own hands. A long day of hunting with so little reward had left Thor with thought only for his stomach, and so he -”

“My Queen?”

Frigga pursed her lips. She’d heard the footfalls but chosen to ignore them, hoping the palace guard would have the courtesy to allow her story to finish before announcing Odin’s displeasure.

“The Allfather requests your presence.”

The Queen raised a delicately-shaped eyebrow. “Oh, does he now?”

Fixed expression faltered beneath stern stare. The guard fumbled, suddenly glad he wasn’t the Allfather.

With a small smile and shake of her head, Frigga returned her attention to Loki, starting in surprise to find he’d turned his gaze upon her; a faint frown breaking through the smooth veneer of apathy.

They locked eyes, neither moving until finally, Frigga could take the silence no longer. Slowly she rose to her feet, knowing the story would have to continue another day after all.

“At least you don’t look at me with hate.” Her voice dropped to a bare whisper. “That I could not bear.”

Loki lowered his gaze then, but not before his frown smoothed out; to be replaced by something that was at once worse and better than the blank wall of indifference she long hoped to bring down, brick by brick.

He had always struggled to hide his deepest thoughts from her, and she knew that if any trace of the son she had known resided in him still, it could only be a matter of time before he let something slip.

Later she would wonder if it was a good or bad thing, that when Loki’s impenetrable guise finally dropped, the visage that replaced it was one of raw and unrelenting _despair_.

 

lll ll l lll l lllll ll l lll l lllll ll l lll l lllll ll l lll l ll lll ll l lll l lllll ll l lll l ll lll ll l lll l ll

_As Loki stood manacled and humiliated in await of Odin's judgment, Frigga kept vigil beside him. A mother's embrace he refused to return. Still, she rested her hand against his smooth cheek in wonderment of how a son, so lost, could be found._

_“Be strong.”  She breathed, as she bound all the love and strength of her own heart into those two whispered words._

_But as a footstep fell behind her, and Loki’s gaze hardened at sight of the man who’d raised him as his own, she realised that although her youngest and most beloved of sons stood before her, he was yet to find his way home._

 

**TBC...**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom Hiddleston quotes that inspired this fic:
> 
> "He's buried deep in the darkest recesses of Asgard in a dungeon, unthought of, unseen and forgotten. And when you're written out of life like that, when you're written out of history, and your family have no interest in who you are, people who used to be your friends.. you've got a lot of time to think. So I'd say...if he's not there yet, he's on his way down." (on whether Loki has hit rock bottom in TDW)
> 
> "He just gets lost in the wrong districts of the universe. You know like the dark alleyways, the backstreets. And the people he meets are not kind. And he really has to survive on his wits. And also with this kind of reservoir of pain based on the events of that film. Really just we kind of established that there's this terrible, almost year long journey that he goes on through as it were the jungles of the universe and it is deeply scaring. And it hardens him." (On what may have happened to him between Thor & Avengers)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki loses the plot and is left to wonder, is vengeance as satisfying as he thought it would be?

 

T H E  H A N D  T H A T  F E E D S

 - p a r t  t w o - 

Odin stood upon a wide sweeping balcony overlooking his city, unmindful of how the shining spires gleamed and glittered in the light. The Allfather's mind was far beyond Asgard. Instead, he searched the multicolour network of stars and wondered at the void of darkness far beyond.

It had become a ritual, evening after evening since their youngest son had fallen into Yggdrasil. And although Loki had returned, Odin continued his ritual still. Searching now for reasons as to why. But the night sky gave no answer in return.

Treading softly, Frigga watched her husband as he stood with his back to her, unaware of her scrutiny. The Dark Power he'd channeled to deliver Thor to Midgard had weakened him greatly - though he would never dishonor himself by admitting it. Strong of mind, he ruled Asgard still, but the Odinforce was fast depleting, and with the realms now in a constant state of war since the Bifrost's destruction, there was no time for replenishment.

For so long, the Allfather had carried the weight of the worlds upon his mighty shoulders, but that might was waning, and the worries of the worlds were only growing heavier. Staving off the Odinsleep had taken its toll and would continue to do so.

More often than not these days, Frigga would find Odin here upon this balcony, his mind far away on the distant stars and his shoulders stooped as if the world's weight had grown too much to bear. It was a weakness that had begun to manifest more often as of late, though never when he thought others were watching.

As that thought passed Frigga's mind, she noticed her husband straighten, and his voice carried to her across the high gilded ceilings of the great empty chamber she stood within.

"How does he fare?"

Smiling to see that his senses were still strong even if his body was not, Frigga glided elegantly across the polished marble floors and came to a halt at Odin's side. She touched her hand lightly upon his elbow, a reserved yet intimate gesture which caused him to turn away from the stars at last and greet her with the ghost of a smile.

"He is holding himself together." The answer was, of course, a small untruth, but as dearly as Frigga loved her husband, she knew better than to give away too much without first discerning the Allfather's reason for asking. Especially when Loki was in question.

"Is that the truth?" Odin met her eyes with the all-seeing stare of a man who knew a ruse when one stood before him. "Or are you trying to spare me from my own guilt and shame?"

"Such burdens are not yours to carry, husband." Frigga's tone was kind. "What has become of Loki is not of your doing."

Odin opened his mouth to protest, but his wife laid a finger across his lips to silence him. "He has suffered greatly, yes. But not at your hands. You did your best, as father and as king. You always have. What afflicts him now is not entirely of your making. You know this as well as I."

"Not  _entirely_?" Odin's raised an eyebrow, to which Frigga only pursed her lips and refused to answer.

Belatedly, Odin realised it was just as well. His swift imprisonment of Loki had been argued by his wife with all the passion and vigor of a woman stripped of her motherhood. Despite Frigga's fiery opposal, Odin had refused to budge, and even Thor had shaken his head in admonishment at his brother's actions.

Not completely without love, Odin had given some leeway - allowing Loki a fine prison chamber worthy of banished royalty, and turning a blind eye to Frigga's visits. And although in time Frigga had ceased berating him for giving up on the foster son he'd renounced, he knew she still doubted whether his decisions were always in sight of the bigger picture.

Folding a large warm hand around Frigga's own, Odin shifted his head so that his cheek was cupped in her palm and breathed deeply for a few moments, allowing her comfort to settle upon his shoulders like a mantle.

Finally, he drew away, shifting the topic from that of self-reproach. "I know I have been unwilling to hear about…" Odin faltered, struggling to push through his reluctance, knowing Frigga would weigh her trust carefully on his words. "Our son."

A flicker of a smile touched Odin's lips then, as if so much burden had rested in those two words, and the speaking of them finally lessened their weight. He closed his eyes for a moment, searching inwardly, before continuing. "I have not dealt easily with Loki's betrayal."

Odin held up a silencing finger as Frigga opened her mouth, knowing she was going to protest on the subjectivity of betrayal. "But that is a discussion for another day."

"As is my blatant disregard for your rules?" Frigga asked with a teasing smile and a twinkle in her eye that reminded Odin for one painstaking moment of their dark son.

Odin's lips quirked in response. Frigga followed her own rules. Regardless of what he as King might decree. It was another reason why he loved her. And why so often he depended on her interventions to nudge the bigger picture back into place.

Taking both of her hands in his, Odin faced his wife and allowed his vulnerability to unravel before her eyes. "I need to know with honesty - as a father, not a king - how does our son fare?"

Frigga let out a slow exhalation of breath then, unsure of where to begin. Loki had ever been a complex boy, and locking him in a cell with little more than his own thoughts and memories had caused him to become more complicated than ever. Some days were worse than others. Some days better.

Should she tell him first of the withdrawn Loki who frightened her with his strange faraway eyes and unfathomable silences?

The twisted, hateful Loki who paced his cell like a crazed animal while ranting of vengeance?

The contrite Loki who beseeched her with wistful eyes, and begged forgiveness?

Or should she ease him in gently with the amicable Loki who listened attentively to the words of wisdom she tried to impart, and made her laugh with his clever wit (and later cry to wonder which Loki she'd encounter the next time?) 

Should she tell him how, more often these days, she felt she was losing him all over again? That the void he'd once fallen into was now claiming their son again?

It could prove to be a long recap.

 

* * *

 

 

_Loki dreamt. In his dream, he opened his eyes. A small feat that required more effort than it was due. Eyelids fluttered uselessly at first; sealed shut by grit and tears. The latter which caused him shame - that they fell so readily - even as his heart ached for their cause._

_Slowly, he drew feeling into an arm numbed by chill and bruised beyond reckoning, and fraction by tiny fraction he pulled his arm up towards his face; scrubbing at the grit until his eyelids opened at last. Struggling to find focus in the darkness, Loki stretched his fingers across his face, grimacing at the slick of blood and muck for which he could find no source. His mouth tasted of gravel, and he bit his tongue so that the coppery taste of blood would replace it and wash the dryness from his throat._

_Pressing his hand upon the cold jagged rock on which he was strewn, Loki pushed himself into a half-kneel and tentatively reached out like a blind man waving into the unknown  There was nothing before him; nothing but absolute darkness and not even the light of a distant star to see by._

_For a moment he dropped his head into his hands and wondered how it could be that he was still alive. When he had released his hold on Gunthr he had plunged into a no-mans-land of deep space. By rights, it should have killed him. For all that he knew of the dark paths, a descent into darkness such as this was a pathway to madness. And never one he would expect to survive._

_Which was precisely the problem. He had taken that plunge knowing it would end him, and yet… Here he was still._

_With a grunt of effort, Loki sank back on his haunches, wincing at the pain that pulsed through his body as he did so. His magic was weak here. He could barely feel its hum within his veins. But with a flick of his wrists he made a quick yet elaborate flourish in the air before him, and produced a small spluttering globe that threw dim light into his grim surroundings._

_Stark, jagged rocks spread out around him as far as he could see. Nothing more, nothing less. He had traded one lump of space rock for a larger one._

_After evaluating his surroundings for several minutes, as still and silent as a deer sniffing the wind for threat, Loki chose a direction and began stepping carefully across the rugged plain. Stumbling sometimes, he made his way towards a distant peak, in search of a dark path that would lead him off this rock._

 

* * *

 

 

"I wish you would tell me what you are thinking, when you sit so strange and still." Frigga sat on the edge of her gilded chair, hands clasped tight on her lap. "We worry about you Loki, we all do. Your father has asked about -"

Loki's head shot up, his eyes fierce. Of all the topics Frigga had tried to broach in order to gain his attention, it was this that finally did the trick. "The Allfather sends you to report on me?"

With a start, Frigga leapt from her seat and stepped forward, raising her palms towards the energy shield. "No Loki! We only wish to help. If you would just tell me what troubles you…"

Loki held up one silencing finger and watched the words die from his mother's lips.

When her smile had faded and she stood still and expressionless before him, he gracefully unfolded himself from the floor and rose to his feet, his movements fluid - as if he hadn't been sitting cross-legged for hours upon a cold marble floor, lost within the horrors of his head.

"So I have a spy in my one-person camp." Loki shook his head in reproof as he gave an exaggerated sigh. "And  _that_  is why you await my every word with bated breath?"

"Don't be foolish Loki, you know I -"

"No no! Let me." Loki gestured for silence once more, before stroking his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully against his chin. His frown smoothed out and his tight smile softened, shifting to one of understanding. Beguilingly so. "You only have my best interests at heart?"

"Yes, of course." Frigga murmured, her expression guarded. She knew her trickster son too well to be foiled by his sudden change in demeanor. "We've only ever had your best interests at heart."

Loki met his mother's steady gaze and his eyes chilled. Then, he began to pace.

"And you'd like to know what am I thinking while I sit here, day after idle day, twiddling my fingers at the whim of the Allfather?" Loki watched the Queen struggle to hide the unease she so clearly felt in his presence. Full of facade, he thought. Like mother, like son.

Except of course, he wasn't really her son.

Taking a moment to laugh in derision at himself, Loki continued. "Well,  _one_  thing I've been thinking of late, is that endearing little memory you chose to bring to my attention during your last visit. If you recall, it was the one about the hunting trip, and the fawn?"

Loki waited for Frigga to nod in assertion before continuing. "I had forgotten all about that wee gem, to be quite honest. It was several hundred years ago, after all. But as you spoke - as you jogged my memory - it all came back to me."

Loki stopped pacing, and turned abruptly on his heel, throwing his arms out wide as a wicked smile broke upon his face. "In  _glorious_  detail."

Frigga rocked on her feet but held her ground, her face grim.

(No doubt sensing his version of the event wasn't  _quite_  as endearing as her own, Loki mused to himself.)

"Shall I pick up where you left off?"

Frigga paused, before forcing her lips into a tight, anxious smile. "Yes my son, please continue the story."

Holding his palm out towards the chair, Loki waited as the Queen resumed her seat. Neither pacing nor settling himself, he remained before her as a man given center stage before a captive audience.

"Well as we know, while the Allfather and I argued over the fate of the creature, Thor took matters into his own hands and slaughtered the animal." Loki's eyes sidled away from Frigga then, his mind swept up in the memory.

"Young and soft as I was, I wept. Wept that my brother had once again taken what should have been mine. As he had done so many times before. And would do so again."

"Loki…" Unable to find the words to make protest, Frigga's denial trailed away.

With a contemptuous smile, Loki continued, "The Allfather insisted that what Thor had done was right. A graceful deer could never be raised as a humble goat."

Loki's voice dropping to a murmur and he cast his gaze downwards. "That it wouldn't be fair, for either party."

For a moment, he drifted into thoughtful silence. Then he raised glacial eyes to meet Frigga's own, and a sharp bitter smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Of course, little did I realise he was thinking of  _me_  when he spoke with such experience. Except  _I_   was the goat. Masquerading so  _ineffectually_  as a deer."

"This is not true Loki! You must stop thinking this way! Your father never felt like that - "

"He is not my father!" Loki screamed, leaping forward until the energy field began to hum at his proximity. "He has renounced me of name and of kinship. I am naught but Loki  _Laufeyson_  now."

Frigga shook her head as her son struggled for calm, even as madness danced so clearly in his eyes. "I cannot explain why he said that Loki, I'm so sorry.."

"Oh yes I know. He has a reason for everything, doesn't he? And all for the greater good. Tra-la-la." Loki paused, a manic smile twitched at his lips. "Now where do you play into this? You come here week after week, pretending to care. Pretending to love me, and for what? For what,  _mother_?"

That final word flew from Loki's mouth like a vulgarity, and he ignored the tears that pooled in Frigga's eyes as he began once more to pace.

"No, you have always been our son! We loved you Loki.  _We love you still!_  Why won't you see this?" The words Frigga had been searching for tore free at last, and her fine features contorted as a myriad of emotions struggled within her.

But Loki looked through her, unseeing; a wild animal grown tired of its cage. "You don't know me! You  _never_  knew me!"

"Loki, please listen -"

Springing forward like a striking snake, Loki ignored the bolts of pain that ripped up his arms as his fists slammed into the energy shield. "Why do you come here? What do you hope to achieve? Do you think to kill me with kindness? Are you hoping I'll crack and tell you what grim fate my allies have in store for this realm? And for  _you_ , and all of your kin?"

Frigga's hands flung to her mouth to stifle a sob, her eyes wide in shock at the cruelty of his barbs.

Loki took pause then, his brow creasing. "That's what it is, isn't it? You come here masquerading as the loving mother of my memories when you're as much a liar as I - and I as much a liar as you all!"

Unable to endure his seething hatred any longer, Frigga shrank back from the stranger she had thought to call her son. Fists clenched tight to stop her hands from shaking, her voice trembled as she finally worked it from her throat. "No Loki. I know there's still good in you. I want to help you find redemption and return you to me as the son I knew."

"Redemption?" He spat the word as a foul taste upon his tongue. "What redeemable quality could I  _possibly_  have left?"

Without waiting for Frigga to answer, Loki continued to vent, too wound up in his own self-righteousness to care for what condolences she might offer. "All you seek is a way of making use of me. A prisoner must earn his keep to survive. Oh yes,  _I know that tune well!_ "

Something cracked within him then. Frigga could see it. Something raw and vulnerable. Something flayed open and full of pain.

"For all the time you've been in here - for all you have done - I have believed in you." Frigga's words were slow and measured as she fought for calm. "I found you in that other place. I scried, and I found you - before you invaded Midgard. You were in the company of another. I saw… I felt…"

Frigga stumbled on her words, thrown out by the wide manic smile that had begun to sneak back over Loki's face. "You weren't  _you_ , Loki. And you were trapped, you had no choice!"

Loki's laughter rang out then; rich and full of mockery. "Gullible woman!" He hissed. "You saw only what your fool eyes wanted you to see! I know the dark paths! I could have opened a door back into this universe as soon as I crashed upon the first space rock! No. I chose my path. Thanos offered me more than Odin ever would. Don't you see? I am  _Laufey's_  son. And I care  _nothing_  for you and yours! _You are not my mother! You are_ nothing _to me!_ "

His words had become a shriek of raw emotion and Frigga flinched as his features twisted in hate and torment; her resolve to stand by his side tested by the crushing weight of such rage.

Then the shield between them flared bright as the strength of Loki's anger drove dark energy against it. Again and again, he unleashed his fury against that impenetrable barrier. Faster and faster, the dark well of energy poured forth so that the shield remained a wall of blazing gold, blinding in its brilliance.

As it blazed, the hum of its woven charms changed in pitch and tone, growing louder and louder until the sound became a shrieking roar that drove Loki to his knees; hands clutched to ears as his body folded in upon itself, his own screams tearing free to join the fray. Until he slipped into unconsciousness; his mind at last unable to endure his self-inflicted torture any longer.

  

* * *

 

_Loki was unsure how long he'd been scaling jagged peaks and stumbling on shingle, but his confidence in finding a way off this rock was waning as fast as his feeble orb of light. His magic was too weak in this star-forsaken universe to draw upon a dark path. He could barely conjure the simplest of tricks._

_At times, the orb spluttered and plunged him into a darkness so vast and chilling, he would struggle in desperation to bind it; his threads of fractured magic pulled so taunt and thin they threatened to snap._

_Though not given easily to fright, this dead shell of a universe terrified Loki. This was a desolate place. A dead place. A place that played upon your worst thoughts and deepest fears, and stripped you to your barest core; leaving nothing but the horror of your own undoing._

_Still, he continued to make his way across the barren, rugged landscape, in search of a doorway through space-time he knew he would never find. There was nothing else he could do._

_Before long, the tattered threads of his magic drained away and his light winked out. His small spluttering light. The one shining beacon in a darkness so bleak and all-encompassing, he was pushed to the fringes of despair just to know such darkness existed - and he within it._

_But for how much longer?_

_Overwhelmed by futility, Loki knew that if he had but one fleeting chance to make things right - to throw himself upon the Allfather's mercy, and Thor's forgiveness - he would do so in a heartbeat and weep for the sweet sound of their admonishments._

_But there would be no redemption. He had burnt his bridges and now he was lost in a dead universe. No one would know or care to help him now._

_Sinking to his knees, Loki vented his anguish across the bleak alien landscape. On and on until the echoes of his cries threw themselves back at him in waves of varying pitches like a macabre symphony of suffering._

_A greater man - a warrior such as Thor - might feel shame at such release. But there was no one here to know. No one to hear this maelstrom of misery. In this cadaverous universe, he was alone. And nothing but death awaited him._

* * *

 

 

When chaos had finally burnt itself out, the energy shield returned to its benevolent state and its shattering roar diminished to a barely-audible hum.

Loki lay curled upon the cold cell floor; head bowed and knees drawn towards his torso like a newborn babe. His throat felt raw, his body ached, and his head thumped as if he'd drunk a tavern's worth of mead. Gradually consciousness returned to him in fragments and the nightmares of sleep slowly receded. Though, the nightmare of awakening was almost worse.

As he pressed his palms against the marble to push himself onto his knees, Loki saw blue-black tendrils threaded beneath the skin of his knuckles. Dark magic indeed. In grim fascination, he watched the strange vein-like patterns slowly fade, until his skin was the colour of alabaster once more.

Then he looked beyond his cell, to the gilded chair that stood abandoned in the empty stone foyer, and he let out a deep breath. Of course, he had driven her away. It was what he had intended. And as soon as he had arranged himself somewhere more comfortable than this floor, he would gloat in that satisfaction.

With his eyes still drawn to that empty chair, Loki slowly pulled himself to his feet. The excessive use of magic left him feeling as if he'd just come off worse in a fight with a bilgesnipe and he winced as he straightened; feeling his ligaments protest against such movement.

Gingerly he lowered himself onto his bed, exquisitely carved in Asgardian oak. The bedding soft and glorious. He had lain upon this very bed for more months than he cared to acknowledge within this cell, yet he only now noticed the finery he'd been given in his exile. A disquieting thought snuck into his head as he fingered the lush velvet bedspread in green so deep it was almost black. Gathering the bedspread around him, he crushed the velvet in his hands and breathed in its oh-so-familiar scent. Rosemary. His bedding had always carried this fragrance. Not lavender, to aid sleep, but rosemary. From Frigga's own herb garden, no less.

Rosemary for love. Rosemary for loyalty. Rosemary for remembrance.

During his childhood, he would often sit with his mother as she tended her gardens. While pruning the rosemary bush she would chant those words with a playful smile, until he would be compelled to join in. As the other boys his age practiced battle-craft with wooden swords, Loki tapped into his mother's knowledge of herbal lore and folk-magic and developed a skill-set quite unlike that of his brother's. 

In that moment Loki saw a vision of Frigga laying this very bedspread over her rosemary bush, allowing the herb's fragrant essence to infuse into the fabric like a hidden message for his heart to find.

_Love. Loyalty. Remembrance._

Loki pressed his face into the fabric and breathed deep, remembering the heartbreak on Frigga's face as he screamed his final words - as he denied her as his mother.

If this was vindication - if this was vengeance - it was a dull, hollow feeling indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think? Would you like to see more of Loki's flashbacks (yes there are of course more, like it or not) or more/less of Loki being bitter and angry? I'm sorry Frigga wasn't stronger in this chapter - I do envision her being a pretty tough lady, but I wanted to portray how Loki's rock-bottom type behavior has got to her so deeply, it's kind of left her a bit floored. I'm not sure if I carried that off or not...? Any feedback is welcome!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3: Loki tells himself he's in control of the mind games. But is he really?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the lovely folk who left feedback on the previous chapter, and I'm so sorry this update has taken so long to arrive! It's shorter than previous chapters, but the flashback scene I have planned for the next chapter is going to be more intense than previous ones and may well need to wait for the next 2am burst of inspiration in order for me to tackle it! 
> 
> There was mention in previous chapters of the moodswings Loki has gone through during his imprisonment. Sometimes Frigga has arrived to find him angry and raving, other times full of remorse, or humor and charm, or silent and unresponsive... In this chapter, he's remorseful and lonely, but he still hasn't learnt a think from his mistakes. 
> 
> One last thing: If anyone here is a Dark Angel fan, you may recognise a line Loki says is one borrowed from Alec.

T H E  H A N D  T H A T  F E E D S

 - p a r t  t h r e e -

 

Frigga didn't return. Not the next day, or the one after, or the week following.

Despite all that he pushed her away or ignored her, Loki had grown used to his mother's patient vigil on the other side of his prison cell. More often than not, he refused to meet her eyes, knowing he'd find an unwavering hope in her gaze that would turned his stomach to lead. Her steadfast refusal to give up on him nearly drove him to seek a means of escape - if only to evade her gentle insistence that there was good left within him.

There had never been good within him.

Only a clever ability to time his smiles so that others thought he was laughing with - rather than against - them. He'd long felt himself separate from the rest - always wondering at the back of his mind why Thor was the living embodiment of the sun while he was cast in shadow. Dark hair, pale skin, thin form… A shade of his brother's greatness indeed.

To find out he was a prince of Jotunheim was only fitting. He'd carried ice within his heart long before finding out he was born of it. If he'd only known sooner of his true heritage, perhaps he could have turned such knowledge to his advantage, rather than try to destroy the realm of his birth in blind rage.

But there was no sense lamenting such misfortune now, Loki thought to himself as he sank wearily into his chair. What was done was done, and all that remained for him now was to endure this cell and wait.

Soon enough, the worlds would know what was coming to them.

Meanwhile, he had a plethora of pointless Midgardian reading material to test his patience on. His mother's attempt to make him understand something of the world, people he'd tried to make his own, and those who had tried to "press their tyrannical rule" in the past. As if he cared a jot for whoever Hitler had been. Edifying indeed.

* * *

 

_When they found him, he was barely breathing._

_One slammed a heavy steel-clad boot into his ribs with a force that would have shattered a mortal's bones. He did not budge._

_The leader spared a quick glance at his comrades. The hunger upon their faces was decision enough, and he bent quickly to haul the unconscious figure up over his wide shoulders. The weight was more than he bargained for, and he staggered for a moment, cursing inwardly at the danger of displaying such weakness before his men._

_Stifling a grunt, he hoisted the limp body a little more across his shoulders and strode on across the rocks. Behind him, his rag tag band of men fell into their positions without need of his command. It wasn't as if they had another choice._

_The ship that waited on the flat expanse of rock looked hardly capable of leaving the ground. The last dozen meteor showers had - if anything - made improvements to its bodywork. But the mechanics were sound and the fuel easy to source. Even in a universe as dead as this. Their only danger lay in low food supplies, but that was a problem now remedied for a little while longer. Their kind was used to eating sparsely, and the meat on this one would do them well._

_Landing on this rock had indeed been a blessing._

 

l ll lll l ll l

 

_Tossed face down into the cargo bay, Loki regained consciousness as he was hitting the floor, but not quickly enough to prevent his captors from wrenching his arms behind his back and binding them with a silent and lightening-quick efficiency that suggested they were long practiced in such arrest._

_A feral light lit Loki's eyes as he twisted towards them and snarled vicious threats that merely slid off his captors like water. He was as gifted with Allspeak as any of the Aesir; there was no doubt in his mind that they understood him. Likely they'd heard it all before, in one language or another. Water off a duck's back._

_The cargo bay had held captives more times than Loki could hazard a guess. He knew it from the stale, lingering stench of fear and bodily fluid that tainted it. The old blood smeared brown upon wall and floor. These men were mercenaries. Bounty hunters. And by the brutal, half-starved look about them, he could perceive the reason for his abduction._

_Forcing himself not to react to their poorly-veiled hunger, Loki decided the best course of action was to feign a weakness greater than their own, and think of a plan. He had no intention to die at their hands - he'd survived too much to end up on someone's plate._

_So when they stripped him off his boots, he forced himself to do no more than hold the gaze of the man who stole them; the promise of retribution buried deep within himself. When they made ribald jests at his expense, Loki held a straight face; refusing to rise to their bait. Until one crouched before him and ran his warm wet tongue from jawline to ear, leaving the stench of his fetid breath in Loki's nostrils, before standing and grinding his crotch against the dark prince's face. Loki could not bury his pride deep enough to ignore that. So he delivered the merc a slow curling smile; one that failed to reach his eyes. One that turned the room cold with its glacial threat._

_But his captor merely licked his lips in a hunger that was of a different desire to that of his companions, and although Loki's skin crawled at the gesture, he couldn't help but find it a pragmatic solution. If no better plan came to mind, he could use this man to orchestrate his escape. And then he would kill him. He would kill them all._

_A voice came over the intercom. A curt command to return their stations. They spoke quickly amid themselves, shedding enough information for Loki to discover they were as lost within this dead universe as he. Then with laughter and sneers they left him on the filthy floor of the cargo bay._

_Loki, Prince of Asgard. Imprisoned on a mercenary ship destined for nowhere. Captured so as to provide these savages with enough food to stave off their own deaths for a few more days yet._

_If only his family could see how far had he fallen._

* * *

 

Loki heard the approaching footsteps - knew who owned that measured tread without needing to lift his head from the crook of his arm to see with his own eyes.

Even the fact that his visitor dare enter his cell was no surprise. This was one who had never quite understood the concept of boundaries and personal space. Biting back a smile, he kept his gaze averted; disinterested.

When his visitor spoke, he knew the words before they fell from his lips. Oh, he could almost chuckle at the Thunderer’s predictability. Had he the means to care.

“Loki, look at me, damnit.” The gruff voice was unyielding.

This time Loki did chuckle. Just because he knew how much it would irk the stupid oaf.

“Oh, _brother_.” He fashioned his words into a snake-like hiss as he raised his head to meet Thor’s demand. “How can I resist such a polite invitation?”

“What have you done to Mother?”

Loki leaned back against the wall and gave Thor a long hard look before answering. “I have no idea what you’re -”

“Don’t lie to me!” The rage was controlled in Thor’s voice - but only just. “You have done something to her - said something to her. You have stolen the light from her eyes! Now tell me, or I swear I’ll choke the truth from you!”

“Oh, you swear, do you?” Loki’s voice lifted with interest. “Do you swear in the same way that you swore to preserve the peace? Because you did such a fine job of that, didn’t y-”

Loki’s sentence cut off as he was lifted roughly to his feet and pushed against the wall. The iron-fast press of Thor’s fingers was a pain he almost relished. His brother was a kitten in comparison to some he had known.

“Do not test me, brother!” Thor bellowed, his face mere inches from Loki’s own.

If Loki were anyone else, he may have flinched, tried to cower, begged for forgiveness… But Loki was Loki. And in such situations, Loki knew only one response.

He began to laugh.

It was a short-lived burst of laughter - he knew Thor’s threshold wouldn’t hold out for long. “But you are so easy to bait!” He managed. “Really Thor, I must thank you for the entertainment!”

The fingers that pressed into his shoulders shifted as Thor balled his hands into fists. He set his jaw, held his tongue and breathed deep in attempt to find calm.

Loki smiled. He was so easily amused these days.

“What difference does it make now?” He offered at last, his voice cheerful. “If something I have said or done has caused your mother harm, I cannot reverse that now, can I?”

Thor released him and stumbled backward, his face stricken with grief. “What has happened to you Loki? What have we done to make you hate us so?”

The catch in Thor’s voice was nearly Loki’s undoing. He discarded the next line of insults that had formed upon his tongue and closed his mouth. Wordless.

They stood against each other in tense silence and as Thor’s eyes searched his face, Loki wondered what the Crown Prince was hoping to find. Regret, most likely. Well, he could _try_ to muster some of that up. If nothing else, it would be an entertaining show for Heimdall, who would no doubt report this visit to Odin.

“I’m sorry..” Loki murmured finally. The sincerity sounded so real, he almost believed it himself. “I never meant for any of this to happen…”

Thor stood stiffly opposite him. Arms folded tight across his chest; guarded and distrustful. His expression torn.

Loki fancied he could see Thor’s entire thought process laid out bare before him. The hope, the doubt - that terrible inner conflict. He wanted to believe, Loki knew. But how could could he trust a man so mercurial, anything might cause him to lash out again? How could he know this wasn’t another trick?

“Mother mourns you as if you were dead.” Thor’s voice cracked on the words.

Loki’s gaze slid from Thor’s tear-stung eyes to the rosemary-scented bed covering he had thrown into the corner of his cell, days earlier. Something sharp and painful tugged within him. He closed his eyes.

“Perhaps I should be.” The words were barely a whisper, but they fell like lead to the floor.

“No. Never.” Thor said gruffly. He closed the gap between them, the sudden movement causing Loki's eyes to snap open just as he was taken by the shoulders and pulled into a crushing hug. “You will heal. You will be well again. You will be at my side, as you once were.”

Loki kept his tightly-balled fists pressed close to his sides. It went against his instinct, to be comforted. It tore him with uncertainty. He wanted to lash out, to scream that he didn’t need this - he didn’t _want_ it. Especially from Thor. And yet… He couldn't bring himself to pull away.

This was how Thor chose to lay his own punishment upon him, wasn’t it? For what hope could there ever be for him? These cells were all he would ever know.

Sucking in a ragged breath, Loki reminded himself of the hatred he felt for those who had once been his family - the jealousy and resentment he had carefully harbored in the years since finding out the truth.  He infused it into his voice as he pushed his _brother_ away. “I don’t want your pity.”

Thor stared. Silent and questioning and grief-stricken.

Loki ‘s smile was cold and calculated. A dagger’s thrust. “I want your absence.”

His once-brother stepped back then, bitter understanding dawning on his face. This had been Loki's game all along.

“As you wish.” Thor’s tone was curt as he turned away. (Loki told himself it was just as he had hoped.) 

Then he noted with detached curiosity how Thor dropped the energy field to step beyond his cell, before swiftly raising it again.

Interesting. Only one who had taken part in the creation of the binding spell could alter it. So, Thor - for all his show of brotherly love - had been one of those who had sealed his prison. To be part of that judgment for eternal damnation.

The realisation served as confirmation for what Loki had suspected. Thor’s claim to see him rehabilitated, and have him at his side, was as cruel a lie as any the Allfather had spun. _Like father, like son._

And he would see them _both_ at his feet and groveling for mercy before his time upon this realm was done.

 

**tbc...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4: Loki experiences loneliness. And memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those who have left feedback and encouragement to continue with this fic. A nudge is particularly helpful during those times when I lose my writing mojo because I can't shift past a scene (or even a sentence.) So thank you for keeping me going. :)
> 
> WARNING: A flashback scene in this chapter involves content of a violent/sexual nature. It also includes a Loki wrapped up in self-pity and lonliness. Don't expect that to last of course...

 

**T H E   H A N D  T H A T   F E E D S**

\- p a r t  f o u r  -

  

_Loki's wrists bled. Despite his efforts - despite how the chaffing had given way to torn skin and the slick of blood had slid the ropes around his wrists, he still could not make them give enough to work free. There was nothing within his reach he could use to cut the ropes, and for all that he tried summoning magic to his aide, he couldn't produce even the smallest spark of_ _seiðr_ _._

_The lack of magic made him feel stripped bare and flayed open. He could not remember a time when its gentle thrum_ _had failed him. Seiðr coursed through his body like life-blood. It was his air, his comfort. A protective blanket he had woven around himself since he first recognised that he differed from his peers; well before he understood why._

_What now could he do, if his magic were truly gone?_

 

lll ll l lll l lllll ll l lll l lllll ll l lll l lllll ll l lll l ll lll ll l lll l lllll ll l lll l ll lll ll l lll l ll

 

The thing with imprisonment, Loki realised in his more lucid moments, was that you were always waiting. Waiting for a guard to bring your next meal, waiting for visitors who would never come (not that you wanted them anyway), waiting to grow tired enough to sleep... Waiting simply for time to pass.

Until there came an inevitable point where you wished for company, simply to have something - _anything_ \- break the monotony of the day.

There were times when Loki could almost care for the presence of his brother. For the sake of exercising his spite if nothing else. There were times when he would have a sudden thought he longed to share, but no one with whom to share it. And in those instances he'd yearn for Frigga to return.

Frigga. Mother of his heart. She who taught him all she knew. She who had unfurled his tightly closed fists as a child and pressed magic into his palms. She who had swaddled him in _seiðr_ and fed him from the Well of Urðr.

Sometimes, he would imagine she was visiting him. He would play out their conversation in his mind.

First, he'd apologise for his outburst; that moment of madness which he now regretted (for the time being at least.) Then Frigga would forgive him, and soothe him with her soft-spoken words. And he would tell her of the wonders he'd seen in those strange galaxies. He'd weave her a tale so richly fabricated, he'd believe it himself.

Between them, his wounds would heal. His madness would abate. And he would be returned to the heart of Asgard as a Prince once more.

(Prince of Nowhere. Prince of _Nothing._ His dark heart muttered.)

But Frigga did not return.

And it was probably just as well.

 

lll ll l lll l lllll ll l lll l lllll ll l lll l lllll ll l lll l ll lll ll l lll l lllll ll l lll l ll lll ll l lll l ll

 

Time passed. Days into weeks. Or so it seemed. He'd long ago lost interest in keeping tally.

It was troubling, how little he could distinguish one day from another. The bright light that bathed his cell would dim, indicating it was time to sleep, and then some hours later it would flare up again. Off and on, off and on. Off and on… Over and over again.

There were times when he couldn't help but inwardly rebel against this fixed schedule, and so he would take to sleeping during the 'day', with his heavy velvet blanket drawn over his head to block out the light. And at 'night' he would lie awake through a darkness that was never complete - always lit by the faint golden glow of the energy shield that kept the world safe from his harm.

It wasn't that he was unused to being alone. He had always preferred the company of books to that of warriors and woman. Neither of whom could be fitting companionship when he wished to theorise the workings of the universe, and what might lie beyond.

The difference lay in being alone, and being lonely. The former was a place where he often found himself, the later a feeling he rarely felt. With so much of the universe to study and learn, he had no time for such sentiment.

But now he had all the time in the world. All the time in whatever future remained for him. What was the point in study now? What was the point in pondering what might lay beyond the nine realms, when he had already explored those galaxies and found them dead and cold and empty of all but the demon-spawned?

What was there left now for him, but to sit and and be devoured by the sentiments he had once scorned? This, this… _Loneliness_.

Why wouldn't Frigga come back? Had his words been so terrible? His venom so poisonous as to chase her away forever? Surely she knew he didn't mean it! Surely she _knew_ him by now?

And yet for all his hope - for all his pining and regret - Frigga still did not return.

Until he stopped caring.

Until, of all the things he continued to wait for, he stopped waiting for _her_.

 

lll ll l lll l lllll ll l lll l lllll ll l lll l lllll ll l lll l ll lll ll l lll l lllll ll l lll l ll lll ll l lll l ll

 

_Loki had a visitor._

_He had slept, albeit poorly. Propped against the large metal cargo box to which he was fastened. His body aching from the fall through Yggdrasil and all he had endured between then and now. Hands covered in a sticky mess of drying blood. Shoulders throbbing from hours and hours in their wrenched position. Head pounding from the effort of trying again and again to summon his seiðr._

_To exist without his magic… What would it make him?_

_Of course, he could wield a sword and throw a knife as well as any warrior of Asgard, but the ability to deliver a well-aimed thrust made him little more than another one of these savages. No. If he was going to survive in this universe, he needed to be something_ more _than that._

_But what other talent did he have, save for quick wit and a lying tongue?_

_Loki's despair was interrupted by the hydraulic hiss of the cargo bay door, and he froze; head cocked to one side as he listened to heavy footsteps move cautiously across the floor._

_Pride urged him to pull himself out of his slump, but his exhausted body would not co-operate. This universe_ weakened _him. And then in startling clarity, the answer came to him._

_Quick wit and a lying tongue - it_ was _all he needed._

_Forcing himself to cease his useless scrambling, Loki resumed his position; pitched against his fixture - a picture of hopelessness. He would show weakness to whoever approached - he'd let them think he was defeated. And then when their guard was dropped and the time was right, he would lay them dead at his feet._

_With his gaze cast towards the floor, Loki watched as his visitor's legs came into view. Those boots… They were his own. So it was_ this _merc, returned to make good on that unspoken promise. Well, so would he. Soon enough._

_A hard kick caught his thigh. He made no response._

" _You dead already?"_

_The voice was low and thick. The owner of it crouched down, and Loki's nose was filled with the fetid stench of body grease and stale sweat. His stomach turned._

_A hand snaked out and grabbed his chin, pinching tight and twisting his head so that he had no choice but to lift his eyes._

" _That's better."_

_Stale breath washed over Loki, but he held himself steady. Complacent._

_The hold upon his chin loosened, and the merc ran a thick calloused finger across his jaw before leaning in close enough for his cracked lips to brush over Loki's ear. "Think I'll have me some of this now."_

_Grunting, the merc shifted himself so that he straddled Loki's legs, his efforts clumsy as he grabbed at his clothing; fumbling against clasps and buckles for a means to get past the Asgardian leather and metal._

_Biting the inside of his cheek, Loki forced himself not to react - to keep up this facade of helplessness. Silently, he raged. White hot anger. His body trembled with the effort to hold it all back. Stay calm. Don't resist. Bide your time. He chanted the words inwardly, over and over._

_The merc gave up on Loki's clothes and instead hitched himself up and began pulling free the fastenings of his own trousers. "Let's see how soft those lips are." He tilted his head and leered, a sly smile plastered across his broad flat face._

_It was too much. Too much._

" _Stop!" The cry tore from Loki's throat. His voice was hoarse from lack of use, but he knew the merc would understand him. The Allspeak allowed him that. "If you untie me…"_

_Loki hesitated. He had to stop this - he had to stop sounding so afraid. He was Loki of Asgard. He was a God, or near enough. And even if he was none of those things - even if he was Loki of Nowhere, he was still the Trickster. The Liarsmith._

" _If you untie me," He began again, smoother, calmer now. "I can bring you pleasure - pleasure unlike any you've known."_

_The words felt hollow, awkward. Such talk was not one of his skills. "Eh?" The merc grinned. "Maybe next time round."_

" _No." Loki insisted. He licked his lips nervously. The action caught the merc's interest._

" _Your fellow crew members will_ eat _me first. You know this as well as I. Allow me this - I promise it will benefit us both."_

_The merc grinned wider. Loki's confidence grew. This one was a brainless idiot. Thinking only with his cock. Still, Loki could see he had just enough sense to hesitate. He would have to try harder._

" _Where I come from, they call me the Silvertongue." Loki dropped his voice, his tone compelling. "Do you want to know why?"_

" _Eh? Why?"_

_Smiling languidly, Loki raised a brow. "Untie me, and I'll show you."_

_The merc's interest was piqued enough to override his caution. Drawing a knife from an inner pocket, he shifted from Loki's lap enough to reach behind him and cut him loose._

_Locked into position for so long, Loki needed a moment to regain control of his body. The pain of movement could be ignored; compartmentalised. Such mental conditioning was the first thing all Asgardian warriors had learnt. And for all that he was a scholar and a sorcerer, he was warrior-trained before all else. Still, he had little chance of commanding his body if he could not feel it. And so with his limbs free, Loki flexed his fingers and rubbed his wrists, coaxing circulation through while being careful of the torn and tender skin._

_The merc watched with a lazy smile. His pants were around his knees and from the corner of his eye Loki could see his erection twitch in anticipation._

_Disgust made Loki shudder. He would not allow this creature to defeat and defile him. But he met the man's eyes with a slow predatory smile, pretending his own desire had caused the shiver._

_Then with the feeling returned to his fingertips, he struck._

_Grabbing the merc's throat, Loki flipped him onto his back and pressed his weight against his trachea. Loki's physiology was far denser than it looked, and his weight and strength easily outmatched that of his captor. Still, he had no wish to simply strangle this creature. He needed the mercenary's blood on his hands. He needed the stench of it to serve as warning to all who stood opposite him._

_Reaching into the pocket where the merc had tucked away his knife, Loki wrapped his hand around the metal handle, withdrew it, and thrust it into the man's throat. Eyes widened impossibly. A scream gurgled soundlessly through the wound._

_Without thought or hesitation, Loki then drove the blade into dying man's stomach; burying it to the hilt before ripping the belly open with a quick upward thrust, so that its hot contents spilled out onto his hands._

_Loki stared impassively at his hands as he turned them over and dropped the warm innards onto the floor. He paid no heed to the fluids left behind on his skin. There was no remorse or thrill to be had from the killing. This was a matter of survival - his own. And this man; for all that he looked humanoid; was as much a monster on the inside as he._

_While the final twitches panned out across the body, Loki worked on removing his boots._ His _boots. Once he had them back on his own feet, he hoisted the dead man across his shoulder (leaving his pants around his ankles - he had no desire to cover the man's shame) and walked to the cargo bay door._

_A swipe card operated the door. Old technology. He reached behind himself, felt the card dangling from the man's neck, and tugged it off._

_When he reached the ship's bridge, he threw the body at the feet of the men who had captured him, and absorbed their stunned silence with a self-satisfied smirk._

"This _man is your next meal._ Not me." _He glared at the slack-jawed crew, and wondered how he'd ever let these witless idiots overpower him. "Give me the command of your ship, and I will lead you out of here."_

" _Yeah?" One sidled towards him, wary hope on his face. "How you gonna do that?"_

_Loki stared unblinking, until the man began to shift in discomfort beneath his gaze. Then he let a slow smile unfurl upon his lips. "I just happen to know of a portal."_

 

**TBC...**

**Author's Note:**

> Tom Hiddleston quotes that inspired this fic:
> 
> "He's buried deep in the darkest recesses of Asgard in a dungeon, unthought of, unseen and forgotten. And when you're written out of life like that, when you're written out of history, and your family have no interest in who you are, people who used to be your friends.. you've got a lot of time to think. So I'd say...if he's not there yet, he's on his way down." (on whether Loki has hit rock bottom in TDW)
> 
> "He just gets lost in the wrong districts of the universe. You know like the dark alleyways, the backstreets. And the people he meets are not kind. And he really has to survive on his wits. And also with this kind of reservoir of pain based on the events of that film. Really just we kind of established that there's this terrible, almost year long journey that he goes on through as it were the jungles of the universe and it is deeply scaring. And it hardens him." (On what may have happened to him between Thor & Avengers)


End file.
